30

Yes, today I turn 30. Unlike some people I am unafraid to announce my birthday (nor am I brazen enough to beg for gifts on the internet). Honestly, I forgot that today was the day until I got my card from Mom & Dad (thanks y'all). Then I forgot about it again till I got an unexpected happy birthday email from BC (one of my Brooklyn church-going heroes). Then I forgot all about it again until Brent came home and lavished me with gifts and take-out.

You parental types weren't kidding when you told me having a kid means actually living life centered around someone else for REAL.

Happy Birthday to me!

P.S. And thanks to the cool Lutheran neighbors who surprised me with cake & a birthday dirge after dinner. You will forever remain the "cool Lutheran neighbors" no matter where you move off to.

back to basics

When I was packing for my first year of teaching English in China, I really felt like I was stripping down and reducing life to the basics. I was, of course, fooling myself. Having my mom mail me the cowboy boots that didn't fit in the suitcase...need I say more?

I get the same kind of feeling now, only this time, I think it's for real. Life with a new little baby is really all about the basics. Eating. Sleeping. Pooping. These are the events that define time, not the clock or the TV schedule or classes or work or fun things that one used to do back when. There's a real clarity about living the basics of life so consciously. It's like an alternative hermetic discipline, one that doesn't require the desert and solitude to enforce its strict simplicity. Perhaps I can hope that there's a chance of emerging from this discipline with a new depth of spirit, an unanticipated gift from Clare to me.

mammals

Yes. We are.

Maybe it's easier to think we're all set apart and special and imago Dei and forget that we are also obviously an animal--a mammal--when you don't actually get to watch yourself produce milk.

Breastfeeding is amazing, really. It's sweet and precious and even a little noble. It's everything that the Womanly Art tells you it is. But it's also a reminder that we are animals producing milk to feed our young just like any other. I guess it really didn't hit me till I had to use the breast pump. Where breastfeeding is all about the baby, and you get to gaze down adoringly at her and think loving thoughts and feel good about yourself nourishing this little living thing in your arms, pumping is just about getting the milk out. And you gaze down clinically at the cold plastic thingy suctioned up against your boob and watch a little disbelievingly as milk spurts out from your own body and pretty soon you've got half a bottle of proof that you too are just another mammal.

Perhaps "just another" is a bit strong. It's not that I really feel like a literal cow or anything. But I can't help thinking about how much this amazing capability signals my place among others in the animal world. Does this make human beings any less special, to acknowledge this undeniable continuity? I can't see why. On the contrary, I think it's a precious thing to realize that we too belong to Creation in such an integral way--we aren't just plopped down here by the hand of God into a world that doesn't really know us or belong to us. Instead, we belong to it and it belongs to us.


Glass of milk
Standing in between extinction in the cold
And explosive radiating growth
So the warm blood flows
Through the large four-chambered heart
Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have

Mammal, mammal
Their names are called
They raise a paw
The bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog
Koala bear and hog

One of us might lose his hair
But youre reminded that it once was there
From the embryonic whale to the monkey with no tail
So the warm blood flows
With the red blood cells lacking nuclei
Through the large four-chambered heart
Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have

Mammal, mammal
Their names are called
They raise a paw
The bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog
Koala bear and hog
Placental the sister of her brother marsupial
Their cousin called monotreme
Dead uncle allotheria

Mammal, mammal
Their names are called
They raise a paw
The bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog
Koala bear and hog
The fox, the ox
Giraffe and shrew
Echidna, caribou

thanksgiving

We took this on Sunday at Trinity, just after our Thanksgiving service (which Clare slept through quite adorably).

quote for the day

I subscribe to A.W.A.D. (A Word a Day) because--to my chagrin and yet simultaneous delight--it often actually has words I didn't already know, complete with definition, quote from a real source, etymology, and pronunciation .wav file. There is also always a different quote included at the very bottom, a more or less random one, and sometimes these are very fine. This was today's:

"Everyone confesses that exertion which brings out all the powers of body and mind is the best thing for us; but most people do all they can to get rid of it, and as a general rule nobody does much more than circumstancesdrive them to do." -Harriet Beecher Stowe, abolitionist and novelist (1811-1896)

I don't want to record here on the blog anything about the actual experience of giving birth to Clare. I am writing it, to the best of my ability, but it isn't something I want to publish on the blog. But since I have blogged about everything from not having ever looked at my vagina before, to various pregnancy annoyances and even the birth plan, I feel like a little closure is warranted. So here is what I want to say. I don't think everyone has to do it how I did it. But I wouldn't do it any other way, and I feel even more strongly about it now than I did before. Before, it was all theoretical: trusting what I read and believing it would be best for me and for Clare to do this as medication- and interference-free as possible. Now that I've done it, I know it's not just a physical health thing (though that's certainly of major importance!) but also, for me, a subjective experiential thing. I took it all in, and went with it, and it was the hardest and most exhilarating thing I've ever done. It really was "exertion which brings out all the powers of body and mind." And it changes you to do something like that in a powerful way.

But I also want to say that I didn't do it by myself, and I don't think that anyone really could. I had a chorus of praise around me the whole time: Brent, and my mother, and Maria, and Brynne, my midwife. When I got to that point where I didn't think I could keep going, but knowing that I was going to anyway, I could exchange believing in myself for their belief in me.

I would say thank you, but that just seems lame.

Oh, and today's word was "baxter," which means, "a baker, especially a female baker."

cat meets baby

Wednesday's Child

Clare Madalyn Thweatt Bates was born on Wednesday, June 14, 2006 at 4:09 p.m. at the University Medical Center in Princeton, NJ. She was 9 pounds 4 ounces and 21 inches long. Click here for more photos.

another update for Tracy, et al.

Okay, y'all: today is the official 42-week mark. Last Friday we had two tests to see how the kid was doing in there, and she showed great promise as a future academic, passing both tests with perfect scores. Ah, indeed she is the daughter of two over-achieving perfectionists. However, it makes even the midwives nervous to have someone go over the 42-week mark. And so, tomorrow morning (unless Clare finally gets done teasing and makes her move tonight) at 6:00 a.m. we will head to the hospital and check in for an amniotomy--which just means that they will break the bag of waters. This should be enough to nudge us over the edge into active labor.

Haven't checked lately but it seems to me that no one ever chose June 14...so maybe Clare has waited us all out just to show she's her own person, thank you very much, and refuses to be objectified as a betting object and exploited for personal gain...

So, our bags have been packed for about 3 weeks now. In addition to clothes for me and Brent and indispensable books like The Birth Partner and all the paraphernalia for Clare, there are quite a few items packed especially for their symbolic value.

My going home outfit is Mom's blue dress. She wore this when she was pregnant with me 30 years ago.

To go with the dress I'll take along the necklace that Brent's mom Malda gave me a long time ago--back when we were first married, or maybe even before--a truly unique and beautiful piece that never fails to garner compliments when I wear it.

One of the helpful packing lists in one of the very helpful books Maria loaned us says you should definitely have warm socks. So I have the snuggly warm socks with the heat-up-able gel inserts that Emily gave me for Christmas packed.

A bathrobe for walking around in: my Grandmother's silk kimono from Japan, deep blue and embroidered, gorgeous and comfortable.

To be packed last-minute, (on my last-minute, don't forget list) is the iPod. On it is a variety of relaxing music, including all the songs I have that my Dad has recorded so far.

The helpful packing list suggests bringing an item, like a picture or an object, to focus on during labor. When I visited Honduras for Thanksgiving last year, I was just a couple months pregnant, but Ally and Jarrod had found this beautiful statue of a mother cradling a child and gave it to me when I got there. And it will go to the hospital with me.


So, while the only people in the room with me will be Brent and Mom and Maria and the midwife, everyone is there in some way...so I will be surrounded by reminders of all the people who love me.

hmmm....

time for a new round of guesses? But Grandad Bates--regardless of whether he hits the jackpot--deserves special recognition for being the only one left in the running from the original round of betting.

thoughts on castor oil upon waking

1. to the tune of "I love to laugh" from Mary Poppins: "I love to poop [farting noises instead "hahahaha"], loud and long and free, and the more I poop [fart fart fart fart], the closer to labor I'll be!"
2. It really is possible for the human body to produce the comedic gut rumbling of Major Payne.
3. Castor oil=Drano for human plumbing.
4. for the cultured (do they read this blog?): "Who would have thought the pregnant woman had so much poop in her?"

human depravity in Battlestar Galactica

So, thanks to the incomparable Flett family, my anxious days of waiting for Baby Clare have been ameliorated by the generous lending of seasons 1 and 2 of Battlestar Galactica. Now that Mom's here, I have someone to watch them with (Brent steadfastly refuses and refers to the series as "Battlebutt Gargantua," which I am sure is on some level an unconscious commentary on my expanded anatomy. I certainly feel like a Battlebutt Gargantua at this point, anyway.) I have now watched these DVDs three times through, starting on round 4, and it's time for a little dissertation-related musing on the theological theme of human depravity in this posthuman tale which struggles directly, on many levels, with the question of what is human/posthuman.

For those of you that don't watch, all you need to know is that the basic premise is as follows. Human beings created the Cylons, mechanical robot-types, to aid in the colonization of new planets. These human-made creatures then (with no explanation yet forthcoming by the way) "rebelled" against humanity and thus began the first human-Cylon war. The humans apparently "won" this war, or at least, the Cylons bugged off and left humanity alone for 40 years, during which time human civilization on the Twelve Colonies started to revert back to its techo-dependent ways. As the first episode (the mini-series) opens, the Battlestar Galactica is a military relic about to be decomissioned, and the Commander of the Battlestar (Commander Adama) is himself a relic with old-fashioned fears of the consequences of networking computers. But, of course, his old-fashioned paranoia is vindicated when the Cylons reappear without warning and nuke all twelve Colonial planets, as well as the entire military fleet, save for the obsolete Galactica. Adama then becomes the de facto leader of the remnants of humanity--those survivors who were in transit off-planet during the nuclear attacks that killed everyone else.

So that's the premise. What is terribly interesting is that as the story develops, there is constant commentary on human nature. During a grand tale of somewhat epic proportion about the gutsiness of humanity, its determination, will to survive, capacity for sacrifice and courage, and inexplicable optimism in the face of overwhelming odds, there is also a consistent message that humanity is inherently flawed: shortsighted and violent, selfish and ruthless. There is even the sense that this doomed fate, as the result of ignorance and a failure of moral responsibility, is deserved even as they try valiantly to escape it.

Quite often this commentary on human nature is directly voiced in the dialogue. At the end of the original miniseries, a group of Cylons convenes to discuss the escape of the Galactica and the fleet of civilian refugee ships it protects. The humans have temporarily placed themselves beyond the Cylons' reach, and the question is, can the Cylons afford to let them go? The answer is a decisive "no," and the reason is very simple. If the Cylons are merciful and allow the humans to escape, they predict that the humans will return to exact revenge, because "it is their nature." The irony, of course, is that this is exactly what the Cylons themselves have done: but this goes unremarked, and apparently unnoticed by the Cylons themselves.

Also intriguing is that one of the major Cylon characters, "Number Six," refers to the Cylons as "the children of humanity" in a conversation with another Cylon. They discuss the concept of a debt owed to their parentage and the conclude that parents must be supplanted by their children, in fact, die, so that the children can "come into their own." But the condemnation often voiced by Cylon characters of the inherent depravity in human nature is never considered by them as a possible heritage from their human "parents."

Intensifying this commentary is the religious contrast quite deliberately drawn between the (ostensibly) polytheistic/atheistic humans and the strictly religious monotheistic Cylons. Not only are the Cylons physically and technologically superior to humanity; they consider themselves religiously superior as well. The sense of self-righteousness that runs blatantly through all Cylon God-talk serves to further obscure the obvious question of the parallel depravity of Cylon-nature as the Cylons consistently condemn human nature.

There's much more to this series--a lot of other questions and issues of a posthuman nature are raised. But this particular theme runs quite strongly throughout the whole series, and is central to the plot. The unanswered question of why the Cylons rebelled in the first place has a shadowy hint of an answer in their constant condemnation of human nature. The desperate decisions forced on Commander Adama and the fleet--who do we save? who do we abandon? when do we give up?--illustrate the kind of ethical quandary that best exhibits the ambivalence of human nature. Whether the Cylons are correct in their assessment of human nature or not remains an open question, and I think, perhaps the determining question concerning the direction of the continuing story.

another update for Tracy (and everyone)

Well, y'all, we thought maybe last night we'd see some dramatic happenings but instead we went to bed and slept for 12 hours without incident! Which was great and all, but...no baby.

So today we went to a movie, and our alert Lutheran neighbors noticed that our car was gone and got excited, but alas for us all, we were just at the theatre and not the hospital. Still no baby.

However, as of Friday morning I was "a stretchy 3" centimeters dilated, and 90% effaced, and Clare was a -1. All of that means, things had gotten underway pretty much without my noticing much yet. So Ursula the Midwife "stripped the membranes" to give things a little nudge further in the right direction. We all thought yesterday that this meant something big pretty immediately, but here we are. However, most labors do start at night, or so the books all say, so perhaps tonight will be it, and all you June 4th'ers will be hitting the jackpot. The symbolic jackpot, since I don't really intend any sort of payoff. You'll get to see the kid, that'll have to be enough.

Tracy's update

Well, no signs of labor yet and Mom arrived last night, so, now all I can say is,

Baby Clare, get a move on!!!

But not today since Maria is with someone else whose baby decided to be early, and not Sunday, 'cause she teaches. But Friday would be good...yeah, tomorrow would be great!

The cool Lutherans next door will be posting on the blog to announce the birth, so, keep checking...

you place your bets and takes your chances

Okay, y'all, it's that time. When will Baby _______ finally make her appearance? Place your bets--on anything from birthdate to weight, length, bald or blonde--and we'll see who wins the title of prophet & visionary extraordinaire.

Some tips: official due date is May 30; Brent and I were both 8 lbs., 11 oz.; I was mostly bald with an old man fringe 'round the ears; nephew Levi continues an unbroken bald streak into his first year.

Maybe y'all are getting tired of the church posts. Too bad 'cause this is my blog. You can go to kendallball.net if you want some controversy, or the cool Lutheran neighbors' site or Ally's blog for cute pics of adorable children.

"Laugh with those who laugh, and mourn with those who mourn," (St. Paul, Romans 12:15). Or, perhaps less profoundly but just as classic: "Honey, laughter through tears is my favorite emotion," (Dolly Parton, Steel Magnolias).

Even the weather yesterday laughed and mourned by turns--glorious sunshine gave way slow showers, occasionally punctuated by inundations of stronger rainfall, and then gave way to sunshine again. We sat under a canopy surrounded by pots of tea and Devonshire cream and shared love stories and traded reminiscences, and occasionally remarked on the mercurial weather. This was my baby shower, thrown by the women at the Brooklyn church--the most relaxing baby shower that ever was. After what I can fairly call the most luxurious experience of my life--a prenatal massage at The Spa, treated by my Brooklyn sisters--we simply gathered together for an afternoon of uninterrupted hanging out in a gorgeous place with delectable food. It could not have been more perfect. How do you say thanks for the gift of a perfect day?

The weather cleared for our walk to church together from the tea shop to the Y, and--after a mad dash to the bathroom, as my bladder was the one element not in cooperation with all other elements of the universe to provide me with the perfect day--I entered our church space to discover to my astonishment that Ira was there with us. It took awhile for it to register, actually. I heard Sophia in the background calling out over and over, "Ira! Ira!" in this joyous tone, but it wasn't till I looked around to find a seat that I finally saw him. And there he was! Just 4 seats down from me! It was bigger than meeting Heath and Michelle. And the sunshine poured down strong through the window, warming my back all through our classtime while Joe talked about the canon.

And then Joe talked about what it means to abide: an archaic, unused English word that shows up all through John. Abide in me, and I abide in you; abide in God's love. To abide: to be present, fully available to the other, without pressing forward into the future anxiously, without projecting our desires for the other into the present moment to make ourselves, and the other, dissatisfied or ashamed of what is. Joe is on my short list of fine preachers (Joe, Mike Cope, my dad, and Brent: this is my list of fine preachers I have heard) but something beyond the ordinary happened in last night's sermon. We heard Joe speak, but it was God's witness.

And there were tears. More than one person was convicted; more than one sorrow was shared. And there were sympathetic tears as we mourned with those who mourn.

Many times over the last few months I have felt ashamed at the embarrassing overabundance of good fortune in my life. Things haven't always been this good for me. In fact, things have never been this good. It's a strange thing, I said to Brent a couple of weeks ago, to realize that you are as happy as you've ever been in your whole life. And sometimes I have wanted to hide that, not wanting to flaunt it in front of my brothers and sisters who are struggling with real tragedies, not wanting to be unintentionally cruel in my own contentment.

And what I learned yesterday was that they are as eager to rejoice with me as I am to weep with them. And this is what it means for us to abide with each other.

dropped

Baby's definitely dropped. Ursula, who may be our favorite of the four midwives in the practice (I don't know if it's the charming German accent or the unexpected sense of humor or what but she is so cool) told us so yesterday: "Ze baby ees quite low. She ees down zere." Not that I needed an announcement, really. When someone's head is riding along in your pelvis you pretty much know it.

Anyhow, no signs of labor yet. I still have no idea what Braxton-Hicks contractions should feel like, or how grody the whole mucus plug thing will be, or how dramatic the water-breaking thing should be (although Mom informs me that her water never broke with any of us, so it seems I might have to diagnose labor without the most helpfully definite sign of it. I feel gypped. I mean, come on, on TV births the water always breaks and splashes all over the floor and that's how they know to panic. How will we cope without that?)

So, this week the big project has been getting ready for the untimeable inevitable. Made a packing list, started packing the hospital bag. Made a shopping list for things to take with us and went shopping: juice, Gatorade and Propel fitness water (since I really do hate Gatorade), some healthy snacky easily digestible things, and the irreplaceable A & D ointment for the baby's butt (parenthetical note: it still looks odd to me to see it in a tube instead of in those little free sample packs we grew up with, which seem to me still today to be its most natural packaged form). Bought a little lavendar outfit Brent liked for her going-home outfit as his liturgical side kicked in and objected to taking her home in just any ol' onesie. Charged up the digital camera and deleted all old files on it so we can fill it up with adorable baby pictures. Made a people-to-call list, drafted an announcement email and the Cool Lutheran Neighbors to send it out for us, and added them as a blogger here to post the news here as well. Went to a La Leche League meeting and borrowed the local chapter's Womanly Art of Breastfeeding from their lending library and have started perusing it. Made an appointment with a pediatrician for tomorrow afternoon. Watched the birthing DVD Maria lent us yet again, and still cried, again, at the first birth (that one is just so awesome!)

What else is there to do? Faithfully keep up with the prenatal yoga. And just...wait. But "I hate waiting" and it makes me feel like I want her to just hurry it on up; then again, we need to hang on at least till Mom gets here! It's not that I'm scared of doing this without her, but just that both of us would be so bummed if she missed it.

Overall, though, I still feel like I'm gearing up for a big soccer tournament or something. Anticipating it, preparing mentally and physically, thinking of it like a great big sporting event that I of course will inevitably win after a stellar and inspiring performance "on the field." But I would probably be content to have the baby named MVP.

kitty on steroids!

I wish I had a really manic picture of the cat to accompany the title, but she's not feeling quite that well yet. But she is, literally, on steroids. This morning we stuffed our protesting feline into her hated cat-carrier and took her back to the Carnegie Cat Clinic to see how well the antibiotics had worked and evaluate what else would need to be done. She's perked up considerably since we started administering the antibiotics--even played fetch with us a few nights ago with her favorite toy, something she hadn't done in months. She's also started grooming with a lot more enthusiasm and frequency and no longer looks so ragged. So we knew that she was a lot better than she was a couple weeks ago, but we went with fear and trembling because we were so afraid of being told that all her teeth were going to have to come out, and we have no way to pay for it.

This time, the vet was able to actually open Tiamat's mouth and look inside it (poor kitty was in so much pain last time this wasn't even possible). Her gums were a lot less inflamed and red, but the inside of her mouth is still very abnormally red and full of sore places that need to heal. But, wonderful news! Dr. Miele told us that a steroid shot would be the way to go and would bring Tiamat a lot of relief in just a couple days from all the remaining soreness and ulcered places. The steroid lasts 1-3 months in her system, and quite possibly will bring things to a place where maintenance of a healthy mouth will be the answer rather than extracting teeth. Her actual teeth are fine, so if we can just get the stomatitis under control, then we can try preventative stuff. This of course remains to be seen, but the Doomsday Scenario has been pushed back and we are so relieved.

The cost of today's visit was $36. Altogether, our 2 visits and the meds come to about $160. And thanks to a timely suggestion from my mom, the things I sold at the yard sale Saturday before last (many thanks to Priscilla for organizing it and letting me crash it!) and the stuff Brent put on Ebay to defray the cost of the vet bill bring it to $80. There's a community yard sale out here at CRW this Saturday as well, so hopefully we'll make some more $$ and maybe even cover the cost entirely. That's probably too optimistic, but one can hope.

But best of all, the cat seems a lot happier. And her breath doesn't stink so bad.

The Birth Plan

Here it is: The Birth Plan. Not, of course, that we at all expect things to go according to "plan," and besides, my favorite line from Cool Hand Luke is still "I never planned anything in my life."

Birth Plan for Baby _______

Jennifer Thweatt-Bates & Brent Bates
Princeton Midwifery Care
Maria J. Brooks, doula
est. due date: 05/30/06

* I want the following people to be present during labor and birth, and preferably no one else: my husband, Brent Bates; my mother, Patricia P. Thweatt; my friend & doula, Maria Brooks; and the midwife (Peggy, Ursula, Brynne, or Grace).

* I would like to be able to play music or dim the lights if I choose, and wear my own clothing if I choose. Or not wear clothing, if I choose. (Who knows what the heck I’ll choose.) I want to be able to walk and move around during labor, and eat and drink as I feel necessary.

* I want to try any birthing or laboring position that feels right, or that the midwife or Maria thinks might be helpful.

* I strongly prefer monitoring of the baby by intermittent listening of the heartbeat and not by continuous Electronic Fetal Monitoring.

* I want to try any pain-management technique known to midwife and/or doula as I feel the need: positioning, massage, breathing techniques, bath/shower, hot tub, etc. Do not offer pain medication; if I want it, I’ll ask for it. If I do ask for it, I want to be encouraged to hang on a little longer and be given some idea of my progress; if I can gut it out I’ll be much happier in the end. If I really do want pain medication, I will insist on it despite encouragement.

* I do not want a time limit set on the progress of my labor.

* I want to be able to listen to my body and push as I feel the need.

* I do not want an episiotomy. Any techniques known to my midwife or doula to help prevent this are welcome. Bottom line: I prefer to risk tearing to being cut.

* I would like to view the birth with a mirror if possible, and be able to touch the baby’s head when it crowns.

* Brent would like to help “catch” our baby (or in his more elegant and liturgical terms, “receive the baby”).

* I want to hold her right away (no warming unit), and breastfeed as soon as possible. I plan to breastfeed exclusively and do not want any bottle feeding to occur (no formula, water or sugar water) as this may interfere with the breastfeeding learning process. I want all newborn procedures to take place in my presence or Brent’s presence and with our explicit verbal consent.

* We want 24-hour rooming-in with our baby, and would like to postpone the first bath and bathe the baby in our room. For any newborn procedure that must be done in the nursery, Brent should be present.

* We want to waive the eye medication procedure and are prepared to sign a waiver to that effect.

* If something horrible happens and I must have a C-section, I want to understand the situation and see the necessity of it. I want Brent and my midwife to be there. I definitely do not want to be knocked out completely (if this is possible) as I want to be as alert as possible. I’d like for Brent to be able to hold her as soon as possible, and to be present for all newborn procedures. I want to be able to begin breastfeeding as soon as possible.

We know that birth is unpredictable and that we cannot anticipate every decision we may be faced with. Mainly, we want this birth plan to show that we prefer, generally, as little interference as possible and as much freedom as possible. We’ve never done this before and don’t have any idea what it will really be like, so it’s important to us to be able to experience things as they come without undue anxiety. No panic, people! I am healthy and strong and have a lot of confidence in my body’s ability to figure this out as it goes (my head can catch up later).

I go to an amazing church. Or more accurately, I am part of an amazing church. That old Church of Christ lesson about the church isn't the building, you know, it's hardwired in at this point. It certainly isn't the building that makes this church what it is, although there's a certain grungy style to meeting in a barren, concrete-floored former workout room at the YWCA. It's what happens there every Sunday that makes this church what it is, and what that makes possible for the rest of the week for all of us when we leave and go back home to neighborhoods in Brooklyn, Manhattan, New Jersey, wherever.

I've been grateful for this church for a long time, but every so often something amazing happens that functions as a new reminder that church isn't just something we do because we're in the habit, or because we happen to like the people we get together with, but because there's something life-changing, transformative, about it. These little epiphanies are few and far between and spontaneous and maybe don't get noticed by everybody, but Sunday night, there it was. A little glimpse of God in the middle of a circle of plastic chairs in a barren concrete-floored room, as one friend revealed a need and the response was immediate: we will take care of you, if you need us. That's what we are. The church.

I would love to say more, but I was just there, observing an amazing moment between people as they became Christ to each other, saying amen. Just a witness to a presence that was suddenly more than the sum of those visible.